


erura

by riewritten



Category: Haikyuu!!, 君の名は。| Kimi no Na wa. | Your Name.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Character Swap, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Identity Swap, Kimi no Na wa AU, M/M, Soulmates, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel, boi im so hyped for this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2018-10-17 02:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10584423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riewritten/pseuds/riewritten
Summary: Oikawa Tooru, country boy. Iwaizumi Hajime, city kid. And for some strange, extraordinary reason, they're trading places.





	1. somewhere, i'm seeking the imperfect you

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is really short, but I promise the next ones will be a lot longer.  
> My girlfriend and I recently watched Kimi No Na Wa, and they gave me the idea of doing a iwaoi au of it.  
> Enjoy!  
> Scream to me abt Haikyuu and Kimi No Na Wa on my twitter!  
> As of 22/01/18, this chapter has been edited.

 The comet is here.

It blazes through the cotton-candy pink and liquorice purple sky, tumbling into the sea of soft clouds and breaking through to the borage-blue. The molten red rock falls to the earth, leaving behind smoke and streams of white as it reunites with the land.

* * *

 

_Once in a while, when I wake up, I find myself crying. The dream I must have had – I can never recall._

_But…_

_The sensation that I’ve lost something lingers for a long time after I wake up._

_I’m always searching for something, for someone._

_The feeling that has possessed me, I think, from that day…_

_That day when the stars came falling. It was almost as if… as if it was a scene from a dream._

_Nothing more, nothing less, than a beautiful view._

* * *

 

“Ahhh, Oikawa, you’re here!”

Makki cuffs Tooru over the head, grinning at his indignant squawk. “You went ahead of us, you little punk! What’s the big idea, ditching me and Mattsun at your place?”

Pouting, Tooru shoves Makki off the path and onto the grass. “Revenge for the prank at lunch,” he sniffs. “You two are so immature, get a life! Preferably one that doesn’t involve torturing me.”

Mattsun comes up on his other side, stifling a yawn and draping a lazy arm over Tooru’s shoulders. “Says you, Mr I-Literally-Can’t-Live-Without-Volleyball. I bet you even have a volleyball in your bag!”

Makki grabs Tooru’s wrists and holds them in a lock while Mattsun unzips Tooru’s backpack, hands rummaging through his things. Struggling, Tooru shrieks and twists in Makki’s grip. With a whoop of victory, Mattsun holds up his prize: a pristine, squeaky-clean Mikasa volleyball gleams in the early morning light. They both cackle like witches as Tooru flushes furiously and snatches the volleyball back, holding it delicately in his arms.

“Oh, shut up, the both of you!” Tooru yells, swinging his backpack around and placing the volleyball carefully back in before something or _someone_ else happens to it. “Don’t pretend like you guys don’t like volleyball too, you’ve been on the team for three years!”

Makki and Mattsun, laughing, continue taunting Tooru until he’s bright pink with indignation.

“Listen, okay, the American government literally admitted to UFOs being real– Stop laughing! It’s not funny! Guys..”

Tooru trails off as the crowd of people comes into view. They’re chanting, thrusting cardboard signs towards the cloudless baby-blue sky, echoing words back to the man standing on the stage. Just like that, Tooru’s mood plummets deep into the ground.

Ushijima Wakatoshi fixes his cold eyes on his son. Tooru stares defiantly back. He knows what people say behind his back. _Oh, that’s the mayor’s son. Shh, don’t speak so loudly! Do you know what happened? His mother passed away in childbirth, he lives with his grandma now; uses her last name too. They say Ushijima-san’s never been the same since. Not that I could blame him – his son’d rather spend all day playing volleyball than doing serious, worthwhile things..._

Clenching his fists, Tooru drops his gaze and walks off, trying to maintain a façade of calm. He can feel his father’s stare boring holes into the back as Makki and Mattsun hurry after him. Ushijima begins speaking again, preaching to the masses, and Makki snorts.

“I swear, every time he gets on his high horse, he’s wearing the same suit. Do you think he sleeps in it?”

Mattsun grins, slinging a comforting arm around Tooru’s shoulders and gesturing with the other. “Imagine him sitting by himself, because you know he’s an antisocial cow, just with a bottle of sake, drinking after everyone’s gone home and listening to old Japanese rock music.”

Tooru, reluctantly amused, can’t help but giggle wetly, wiping away budding tears. He’s an ugly crier. Makki shifts next to him and pats him on the back.

They walk in silence for a few minutes before Tooru speaks up. “You know, I bet kids in Tokyo don’t have to deal with all the shit that we have to deal with here.”

“Nah, they’d just be spending all their time working and going to cute cafes and doing all the stuff that we can’t do here,” Makki says.

“Like streetcar racing and playing volleyball in an actual hall, not outside half of the time where the basketballers and the cross-country runners all practice too,” Mattsun adds on. “You’d finally be living in a sports anime where your volleyball shoes would squeak against the freshly-polished wooden floors and play without the sun shining in your eyes constantly! Now that’s the dream.”

Even though he knows his friends are joking, Tooru can’t help but inject truthful wistfulness into his words as he says, “Yeah. I wish I was a boy living in Tokyo.”

* * *

 

Iwaizumi Hajime jolts awake to the sound of hands thumping against his door. Groaning, he rolls over onto his side, closing his eyes against the glare of the morning sun. The thumping comes again. “Itoko-san, wake up, we’re going to be late! Makki-san’s already waiting!”

_Itoko? Makki?_ Cracking an eye open, Hajime sits up and yawns, stretching his hands above his head and feeling his wrists crack. He squints at his reflection in the mirror. From what Hajime could see through his limited eyesight, his skin is pale and he’s wearing an ugly fluro-green shirt with alien boxers. Slowly, he reaches up to pat his head, feeling the soft brown tresses under his hand.

He yelps, scrambling up. Hajime runs to the mirror, grabbing it and staring at his reflection in disbelief.

He’s in the body of someone else.

* * *

 

“Itoko-saaaaaan! Wake up, Mattsun-san’s eating your breakfast!”

Oikawa Tooru’s awake at the speed of light. Takeru stands at the entrance to Tooru’s room, a self-satisfied glint in his eye as he watches his cousin look at the alarm clock, screech and then proceed to make a mess as he gets dressed and applies product to his hair.

As Tooru chases Mattsun out the door, Kiyoko sits back with a sigh, feeling her old bones creak. She watches her grandson sit down with a righteous huff. “Looks like you’re back to normal, Tooru-kun,” she comments, watching him shovel rice down his throat as fast as he could while looking at his volleyball notes.

Tooru glances up at her, a few grains of rice stuck to cheeks. He cocks his head inquisitively. “What do you mean?”

“Yesterday you didn’t do your hair properly, forgot to eat breakfast and went to school without your volleyball.” Takeru says. Tooru stares at him. “You missed first period too. Somehow you forgot where school is? Makki-san had to loop back and search for you.”

Tooru gapes at them. “…What. I don’t remember any of that!” And he doesn’t. All Tooru remembers is going to bed, having an amazing dream where he was in Tokyo, and then waking up in his bed with Takeru yelling at him.

Why, if what Takeru’s saying is true, doesn’t he remember anything?

“What’s the date?” Tooru says suddenly, brushing the grains of rice off his face and reaching for his bookbag. He gets up and starts walking out the door to go to school.

Kiyoko looks at the calendar on the wall. “It’s the 31st of March, why?”

Tooru freezes. When he went to bed, it was only the 29th.

“Tooru-kun, are you alright?” Kiyoko asks, eyeing her grandson worriedly. “If you’re feeling sick, I can call the school and you can have a day off, the stress must be getting to you–“

“I’m okay, obaa-san,” Tooru mutters, slipping on his shoes and slinging his bag on his shoulder. “I’m leaving, have a good day!”

Behind his back, Kiyoko and Takeru exchange a worried look.

* * *

 

Nothing has really changed at school. He gets a few weird looks when he first walks into the classroom, but he’s soon accosted by Makki and Mattsun. The rest of the time, his classmates give him a smile and say something along the lines of ‘Glad to see you’re back to normal, Oikawa-kun!’

It’s only later, as he’s sitting outside with Mattsun and Makki, that he sees the note. They’re discussing aliens (aliens always come up one way or another when Tooru’s involved), and Tooru’s pulled out his phone to show them a picture when he notices the new memo.

Frowning, he opens it up to see just one line of text. _Why am I in your body, Shittykawa?_ His jaw drops.

“Everything alright, Oikawa?” Mattsun asks, trying to get a good look at Tooru’s phone screen.

Tooru flips his phone around, showing Makki and Mattsun the screen. “Did you guys write this?” He says, glaring at them.

They both shake their heads, almost identical looks of confusion on their faces. “Nah.” “Nope, why?”

Makki reads over the kanji again and laughs. “I like the sound of this guy, though. Shittykawa? I might have to try that one out.”

Tooru swats at him indignantly before closing his phone and letting out a big sigh. “It’s probably nothing, don’t worry about it.”

* * *

 

That night, he’s going through his volleyball notes and annotating Japan’s latest international match when he notices the extra writing on the next few pages in his notebook. The writing is spiky and messy - quite a contrast to Tooru’s neat, narrow writing - but it’s readable. He bends closer to the notebook. It’s notes on Tooru’s team – how they could work on this and that, trivial stuff – and how Tooru himself could improve on his spiking and timing for sets.

He’s torn between feeling offended and feeling grateful. A stranger, who apparently had taken control of his body for an entire day, giving him volleyball advice? Tooru snorts. This is something straight out of one of his sci-fi movies.

When he gets into bed, though, he finds himself wishing that he could experience life in Tokyo at least one more time.


	2. somewhere, you're seeking the imperfect me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooru lives life in Tokyo through Hajime again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! it's been abt 75 years but i am back w a new update, and i promise that the next one will come a lot sooner than this one omfgggggg (i mean it this time ok).  
> i also rewrote and added a scene into the first chapter, so go back & reread that!  
> thank you for reading <3

Tooru wakes up to the sound of a train whistle blasting into his left ear.

Startled, he yelps and promptly falls out of bed. He pats around on the ground, feeling for his phone, before finding it and tapping the screen in a desperate attempt to turn the alarm off. After a few seconds of fumbling, it shuts off, and Tooru breathes a sigh of relief before sinking back under the covers.

Wait, since when did he have an alarm?

Tooru sits up and takes in his surroundings. The garish posters of Fukuzawa Tatsuya, the ace of the Japanese team, stares menacingly back at him. He doesn’t remember his own room having those posters.

_Oh_. It must be the dream again.

Tooru gets up off the floor, stretching and feeling his spine crack. He catches his reflection in the mirror and grins. The stretch of tight skin over unfamiliar cheekbones still creeps him out a little, but he’s in Tokyo! He can deal with an alien body. Of course, though, that doesn’t change the fact that this boy’s hair is an absolute disaster. Does Hajime even brush it in the morning?

“Hajime!” There’s sharp rapping at the door. “Get up! I have to leave now, but your breakfast is on the table. Don’t be late for school!”

That must be Hajime’s mother. Tooru doesn’t remember seeing her last time he had this dream; she must’ve left earlier before. He opens the closet, gets dressed, scarfs down breakfast, and prepares to leave before remembering something. Backtracking into Hajime’s room, he rifles through the desk’s drawers.

“C’mon, Iwa-chan, where is it?” He mumbles to himself, eyes scanning each notebook’s content before flinging them aside to continue on his mission. “I know you have to have one somewhere, what with the horrible posters you have around your room, what kind of volleyball player doesn’t have one...”

After a few minutes, Tooru stands victoriously on a pile of discarded papers. In his grasp is a battered notebook with ‘Property of Iwaizumi Hajime’ scrawled messily on the front cover. Grinning mischievously, he flips through it, eyeing the meticulously-drawn diagrams and accompanying notes. He feels briefly impressed. The organisation and thoroughness in the volleyball notebook rivals Tooru’s own. It’s not every day that Tooru meets someone who’s even close to liking volleyball as much as he does (could this really be called ‘meeting’ though?). _Iwa-chan can be neat after all, huh?_

Tooru breaks out into a wide smile. This dream really is awesome!

* * *

Instead of going to school, Tooru decides to stay at home and catch the Nationals on TV.

_It’s a dream, right? Might as well spend it doing things that are worthwhile._ Sprawled on the couch, Tooru nibbles on a reheated meat bun (one of the things that he is allowed to eat while on his diet) as he avidly watches Japan’s setter serve. His eyes fixate on their figure, remembering and analysing their every move. His fingers twitch and reach for a notebook that isn’t there. The whistle blows. The crowd screams louder. The setter tosses the ball into the air, and... serves it straight into the net.

Tooru groans and lets out a sigh, ruffling his hair and flopping over onto his back. He’ll never get used to Hajime’s spiky hair (so different from his own silky strands) and height. He had to stretch to reach the cupboards that the cereal was in! No matter how great this dream is, he misses his actual body.

Suddenly, Hajime’s phone vibrates and lets out a chirp. Tooru, rolling over, grabs it and reads the notification.

**DAICHI:** The practice match starts in 10! Where are you?

Practice match?

Scrambling to his feet, Tooru dashes into Iwaizumi’s room and throws open the closet door. There, tucked behind multiple graphic tees, is a pristine volleyball uniform. He mentally kicks himself. Of course Hajime would be on a volleyball team! You can’t be a volleyball nut without playing it in some form. Noting the large ‘3’ on his back, he smirks. _Not as talented as yours truly, Iwa-chan!_ He hurriedly strips and tugs on the uniform. It settles nicely on his broad shoulders.

Tooru, while slipping on his volleyball shoes, dials whoever ‘Daichi’ is. Okay, it’s not his fault that he doesn’t exactly know where Hajime’s school is! Last time, he didn’t bother going to school at all and instead just wandered around the surrounding area, checking out the smaller cafes and stores around the apartment complex. The call connects.

“Iwaizumi! Where the hell are you?”

“Uh, hi, Daichi,” Tooru stutters, running down the stairs of the apartment building. “Um, remind me where we go to school again?”

There’s a stunned silence on the end of the other end. It hangs awkwardly between them before Daichi finally says, “You fucking with me?”

“No!” Tooru replies indignantly, whipping out his phone and opening Google Maps. “Just tell me!”

“Karasuno High. Hurry up! We’ve got a game to win!” With that, the call disconnects.

Slinging Hajime’s sports bag across his torso, Tooru types the name into his phone and impatiently hops from foot to foot outside the building while it loads. “Come on, come on, come on…”

“Take a left turn in 500 metres,” a woman’s voice pleasantly says.

Tooru runs, dashing around the corner, desperately hoping that he’ll make it.

* * *

He doesn’t make it.

By the time he arrives at the sports hall, huffing and puffing, the match is already halfway though the first set. Karasuno is only a few points ahead, but their opponent – Nekoma – is catching up. In his haste to get inside, he trips over his own feet and sprawls onto the floor. Tooru growls. _Stupid strange body! Iwa-chan, your body sucks!_

“Iwaizumi!” A gruff voice barks. Worn volleyball shoes appear in Tooru’s line of sight. “Get up!”

Scrambling to his feet, Tooru faces a rough-looking man, his dyed blond hair held back with a headband. Tooru briefly compares this guy and his own coach back at Seijou before deciding that his coach is definitely scarier.

“Why are you so late?” Hajime’s coach demands, brows furrowing into a frown. “I told everyone that we had a practice match on Saturday with Nekoma. I would’ve expected this from Hinata if Kageyama didn’t always pick him up, but not you!”

Tooru’s momentarily distracted by the number 11 – a short, orange-haired kid, probably a first year – jumping extraordinarily high and slammin down the ball that the taller, darker-haired boy sent his way. He’s struck with awe; _this_ is Hajime’s team? Ignoring the coach, he takes a step closer to the court, eyes darting from player to player, analysing their technique, their physique, their-

“Hey, Iwaizumi!” A hand slaps Tooru on the back.

Stumbling forward, choking on his own spit, he turns. He glances around confusedly for a moment before looking down. A libero grins up at him, the stark orange and black contrasting to his teammates’ black and orange. His hair is gelled back into a sharp point and a wicked grin is stretched from ear to ear. Eyes glittering with determination and speckled with flecks of mischief, he jabs a thumb towards the court. “A bit late, don’tcha think?”

“Um–”

“But you’re here now,” the libero bulldozes on, ignoring a dumbfounded Tooru. “You missed my awesome save! Hinata’s on now, that crazy kid’s basically invincible when Kageyama’s up there setting, but–” he puffs his chest out proudly, “–no one can beat my receiving skills! Not even Daichi.”

“Sure,” Tooru says slowly, trying to process the amount of info that the libero just dumped on him. “Uh, you think I can sub on now?”

The libero eyes him skeptically. “You all warmed up? You know that Ukai never lets anyone on without the stretches…”

Tooru, groaning, drops and gets himself through the stretches without much difficulty. It took a while to adjust to the limited flexibility that Hajime possessed compared to him, but after a few minutes he stood up. “Okay?”

Ukai, now standing next to the girl who’s obviously the manager, scans him with a critical eye. “Hm. Okay.” He gestures at the referee for a player change and levels Tooru a warning look. “No messing around. I don’t know what made you forget the match today, but whatever is it, forget it, alright? Once you’re on the court, everything else has to disappear. Only the match matters.”

Feeling strangely bolstered by the pep talk, Tooru nods. “Yes, coach.”

“Azumane!” A third-year jogs over to the edge of the court. He takes the ‘4’ out of Tooru’s hand and smiles steadily, his warm brown eyes crinkling slightly.

“Hit ‘em real hard, Iwaizumi,” He says, patting Tooru’s back encouragingly. “Good luck!”

Tooru inwardly scoffs. Luck? He hasn’t needed that ever since he joined Seijou’s team and rose to the top, despite being a first year. Everything he’s accomplished has been due to his hard work and skill. Luck doesn’t have a role in his playing. Outwardly, he smiles his thanks and takes his position on court. Settling into his stance, his mind runs through possible simulations and what he’s recorded on each of Nekoma’s players. He’s watched a few of their matches before out of interest, only because they were rumoured to be a formidable opponent. Observations link with theory and, suddenly, Tooru grins, wide and sharp.

The referee blows his whistle. The first set resumes.


End file.
